


Lie To Me

by Freya_Ishtar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-11-21 07:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18139028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Ishtar/pseuds/Freya_Ishtar
Summary: It started with a fib Hermione forced out that first day of Slughorn's potions class. Next came her birthday gift from a secret admirer, though it wasn't long before she learned his identity. From those beginnings, the fateful year leading directly up to the Second Wizarding War became one filled with false words to friends, and stolen moments with Draco Malfoy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Will [obviously] diverge from canon [in big ways or small ones] as the year goes on. All depends what the story calls for during the writing process ;) .
> 
> 2) Chapter lengths will vary (some will be close to 5k, some will be under 2k). Updates will be sporadic.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from this work.

**Chapter One**

She'd lied! Swallowing hard, Hermione pressed her back against the wall of the girls' bathroom. Potions class . . . Amortentia . . . and she'd  _lied_  about what she smelled. Oh, sure, she'd made it _sound_  like she was in a daze and hadn't realized what she was saying, who she could be describing, but that was only to cover her own shock.

Because the things she'd smelled hadn't reminded her of Ronald Weasley, the boy she thought she'd been pining for the last two years. They'd reminded her of Draco Malfoy.

"Okay, Hermione, get yourself together," she reprimanded in a harsh whisper.

Maybe there was some other explanation for this! The witch nodded, making her way over to the sinks and turning on one of the faucets. While she'd taken her first sniff of the potion's aroma, she'd flicked her gaze up, catching Draco's grey eyes for a split-second before darting her attention rather aimlessly about the room while she'd spoken.

She found herself so caught off-guard that the first answers to come to mind made her think of him rather than someone else—anyone else, really—that she'd forced out words connected with things that made her think of Ron, instead. Could the potion not have been as effective as people believed? Yes! Maybe?

Groaning, she leaned down, splashing some of the water on her face. If . . . if that was the case, she reasoned, perhaps it was because she'd caught Draco watching her in that moment that things about him had come to mind, instead.

Switching off the faucet, she braced her palms against the sides of the sink. That was good! That could be totally possible, couldn't it? If any measuring of the potion ingredients was off even a  _smidgen_ , that could effect the potency, couldn't it?

Though, as she watched the droplets falling from her chin to splash into the draining swirl of water in the basin, she could feel in her gut that this probably wasn't the case. But it wasn't possible. She didn't have feelings for that . . . that selfish, egotistical, spoiled, bullying prat! She  _couldn't_!

Closing her eyes, she straightened up and inhaled deep through her nostrils, trying to calm herself and think about this clearly. There was obviously something wrong with her just now, but before she did anything serious about the matter—like getting Madame Pomfrey to check her head, or having herself carted off to that dreadful ward in St. Mungo's—she should think this through, try to determine what the bloody hell could've been going through her mind back there!

Yes, yes, she'd found herself . . . concerned, in spite of her own better judgment, when Draco had looked so terrible and sickly last year. Yes, she did listen a little more closely to whispered gossip in the corridors between classes if his name came up. Yes, she did feel a little spark of mischievous joy whenever she bested him on test scores and he met her gaze over the tops of their exam scrolls, his grey eyes positively on fire—which was every test. She knew precisely how intelligent he was, making her victory all the sweeter. If she wasn't there, he  _would_  be top student in their year.

Yes, she did feel the sting of it especially hard whenever he looked at her with disgust in his expression.

Okay, that last thought was unexpected. But still, that could all be explained away, couldn't it? Hermione shook her head at herself as she snatched up a paper towel and blotted the water from her face. She was sure it could! He'd made himself her rival from the first time she'd beaten him on an exam, he'd pitted himself against her best friend every chance he got, and he never failed to remind her that in their world, she was considered less-than.

But wait! Harry had been insisting for hours just yesterday that Draco was probably a Death Eater, now, so of course he was on her mind this morning! Perhaps it was only natural she took notice of things about him because she was . . . rightfully wary of him!

Inhaling sharply, she nodded at her reflection. Yes! That sounded good. Plausible! "Okay, Hermione. Now that you've got that sorted, off to class with you," she murmured as she tossed the wadded paper towel into the rubbish bin.

She turned on her heel to face the door, nearly jumping out of her skin to find Pansy Parkinson standing there. Bracing herself for some scathing comment, Hermione only searched the other witch's face with her gaze as she waited.

"About potions class," Pansy began, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain of herself. "I was wondering . . . ."

Hermione's brows drew upward, her heart hammering in her chest. Had that quick, split-second look she'd shared with Draco been longer? Been more obvious? Did Pansy think there was something there?  _Oh, good God, woman! There was nothing_ to _see. Get a hold of yourself!_

"Wondering what, Pansy?"

The dark-haired witch's features pinched in irritation at the prompting. She didn't like being reminded that she was less-than-confident just now. "Amortentia? Does it actually work?"

There was a momentary flaring of confusion that tempered Hermione's anxiety as she realized Pansy's presence before her actually had nothing to do with  _her_. It was totally about Pansy, herself. Shocking, that.

"Only so far as Professor Slughorn mentioned," Hermione said with a shrug. "It doesn't create 'love', really, more of an infatuation. The person who administers a particular dose will be the one the partaker fancies while the potion is in effect."

Pansy rolled her eyes and drew closer, clearly not pleased she'd had to come to Hermione bloody Granger for anything. But then, Hermione bloody Granger knew everything, didn't she? So clearly, she'd know about this.  _And_ —bonus—Hermione bloody Granger was not friends with any of her friends, so this was not likely to get back to the person it was about.

"I mean, if you give it to someone, would they know? Or would they just be overcome with the sudden infatuation and not question it?"

Hermione's brows drew upward. "Um, well, I would think that—"

"If you gave it to someone who previously had feelings for you, would they just think those feelings have returned, only stronger?"

"Is this about Malfoy?" The words had fallen from Hermione's lips faster than she could think to stop them.

An unpleasant scowl marred Pansy's features. "Not that it's any of your concern, but yes." She shifted her weight as she dropped her gaze to the floor. "No one knows it, yet, but he broke up with me over the summer."

Hermione bit her lip, holding in a surprised noise. Bloody hell, she didn't care about that. She didn't!

"Yesterday on the train, he was acting like we were close, again, but now we're back to being nothing. And it hurts and I just want things back the way they were."

Oh, now she couldn't help but feel sympathy for the other girl. "I'm sorry."

Pansy snapped her gaze up to lock on Hermione's, a sneer twisting her face. "Oh, what would you know about relationships, anyway?"

Her brows shooting up, Hermione reminded her, "I'm sorry, who's the one in this room who dated an internationally famous athlete?"

"Right, forgot about you and Krum for a moment there." Pansy arched a brow, curious in spite of herself. "Say, did you and he ever, well, you  _know_  . . . ?"

"As if you'd be on the list of people I'd tell?"

Pansy almost laughed at that. "Fair enough. But seriously, about the potion?"

Exhaling slow, Hermione gave the issue a moment's consideration. "So, what's your plan? Slip him the potion, let him think he's in love with you, hope you rekindle your old relationship and by the time it wears off, he'll  _actually_ be in love with you, so it'll all be fine?"

Her hazel eyes rolling, Pansy shrugged. "Well, yeah. Something like that."

Hermione felt her brows pull together. She desperately hoped she hadn't just accidentally supplied Pansy with a plan of action she'd not actually come up with yet.

"You think it's a bad idea, don't you?"

Shoulders slumping, the Muggleborn girl let out a sigh. "I'm not judging—"

"Damn right, you're not judging!"

Now it was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. For a split-second there, she'd expected Pansy Parkinson not to be a complete wretch—what  _had_  she been thinking? "What I meant  _was_  it seems like an idea anyone might have when they're hurting over someone. And . . . yeah, I think it is a bad idea. I mean, even ignoring if it backfires, or you don't brew it right and it makes him ill, or the plan not working out how you hope and he ends up hating you when the potion wears off. Pansy, if someone's going to love you, don't you want it to be, you know,  _real_?"

Pansy stared hard at the other young woman for several quiet seconds. "Merlin's arse, I hate that I'm about to say this, but you're _right_." She uttered a scoffing sound and buried her face in her hands before going on. "I can't believe I was even thinking that."

It was on the tip of Hermione's tongue to offer a sympathetic statement—to assure Pansy that everyone made stupid decisions where their hearts were concerned—but she knew it would be just as likely that Pansy Parkinson would viciously throw the effort back in her face, insulted that a Mudblood would assume they could be similar in any measure, let alone enough to understand her feelings on anything. This conversation had possibly been the least volatile interaction they'd ever had, and for a reason she couldn't quite name, Hermione was reluctant to ruin that if she could help it.

Dropping her hands back to her sides, Pansy cleared her throat. "Um, well, we're going to be late for our next classes if we're in here much longer. We should go, now."

Hermione only nodded, offering a tight-lipped expression as she started toward the door behind Pansy.

"Oh," the Slytherin witch said, halting mid-stride, her hand on the knob. "Could we keep this little chat between us?"

Snickering, Hermione nodded once more. "As if anyone would believe you and I just had a civil conversation?"

"Fair point. See you, Granger." With that, Pansy disappeared out the door.

Hermione had to give herself a shake before she followed. She was absolutely not thinking anything, whatsoever, over the fact that Draco and Pansy were no longer together. She wasn't, she  _wasn't_!

"Bollocks," she said in a hissing whisper as she started for the door again. Pansy was probably far enough away by now that no one would possibly think they'd had an  _actual_  conversation.

* * *

Finally having slipped away from Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise, Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He normally liked the prattling conversations that went on among his friends when his mind was fiddling with something, it allowed him the peace to think shit over without any of them noticing he wasn't quite paying attention.

It was only a few minutes, really, but that would be enough. He simply needed the silence. Needed a moment to get his head on straight. Leaning his cheek against the stone sill of the castle window, he looked out at the morning sky. Madness, just now. Why on earth had he snapped his gaze up like that when Professor Slughorn had called Granger's name? It was hardly as though her attendance had been a surprise—they'd been in potions class together the last five bloody years.

But then she'd glanced up at just that moment and caught him looking at her. God, he was an idiot. Whenever it was the other way 'round, whenever he caught her looking at him, he could swear it was with something like pity in her eyes. And how fucking dare she? Jumped up Mudblood.

Wait. When was the last time he'd actually used that word? He scowled. It nearly felt as though he'd had to make the deliberate decision to even think it just now. He hadn't said it, what? Since fourth year, maybe? Huh, that was an interesting notion. Draco hadn't even realized the absence of the word from his active vocabulary until just now.

What had changed? When? And why the bloody hell hadn't he noticed it sooner? Damn Granger, this was her fault somehow, he was sure. As though he didn't have enough troubles?

And he certainly wasn't hearing her voice in his head, over and over, as she'd murmured the things Amortentia smelled like to her in that low, breathy tone. Whatever she said, whatever scents she thought it held, it didn't matter to him one iota.

God, why did he keep wondering what the hell that nonsense about peppermint toothpaste had been about? Had to be about Potter, they were close like that, yeah? Or Weasle-bee. Her blood-status notwithstanding, she was too good for that one, but the ginger-haired wizard did get awfully touchy where Granger was concerned.

Biting back a sound of anger at himself for even sparing the time think over this idiocy—hadn't he just told himself he had other things to worry about?—he smacked his hand against his forehead.

"Get to class, you bloody moron," he said under his breath in an irritated whisper.

Forcing himself to turn away from the window, he started down the corridor. Arithmancy class . . . . Well, he didn't have to worry about his friends being there to wonder where he'd disappeared to after potions class. Didn't have to worry about Pansy. After letting her comfort him yesterday on the train, things were weird between them now. Uncomfortable. He'd rather not be around her if he could help it, not until this weirdness had passed, anyway.

But Granger would be there.  _Well, shit._  He nearly stopped in his tracks at the thought. Oh, what was wrong with him? He wasn't even sure what was bothering him about her at the moment, she'd probably be completely oblivious to the fact that she was under his skin for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom.

The girls' bathroom door swung open just then and he walked right into the person who stepped out.

He was so startled to find the wide chestnut eyes of the aforementioned Muggleborn witch blinking up at him in shock that before he even realized he'd spoken, he mumbled the words, "Oh, didn't see you there. Sorry, Granger."

Hermione blinked rapidly a few times, uncertain she heard him correctly. "Did . . . ? Malfoy? Did you just  _apologize_ to me?"

Draco's brows shot up in surprise. Dammit, what was wrong with him? Letting on that he actually had manners like that!

He shook his head. "I, um—"

"Are you feeling all right?" She was actually grateful for the distraction of how  _off_ he seemed. Meant she didn't have to ponder over the coincidence of bumping into him so very literally mere seconds after thinking things she shouldn't be about him.

Yes! Good, let her think he was coming down with something! "You know I . . . I really don't feel very well."

The witch nodded. "You do look sort of, well, paler than usual. Maybe you should go to the hospital? Lie down for a little bit, or something?"

He frowned thoughtfully. "Might be a good idea."

"Okay, well, um, I'll tell the professor that's where you are, then."

Draco gave a nod of his own at her consideration. "Thank you." Her face fell so fast at his words, he nearly laughed.

"Oh, Lord. First saying sorry to me and now thanking me?" She made a shooing gesture. "You'd better get along to Madame Pomfrey! You're starting to worry me."

One final time he nodded, his grey eyes moving over her in a quick once-over—so swift, Hermione thought if she blinked, she'd have missed it—before he turned and started walking.

She had no idea what he meant—or how she felt—when she thought she heard him say, "Wouldn't want _that_ , now, would we?" as he made his way along the corridor.

_Okay, okay, that_  was _weird_ , she admitted to herself as she forced her legs into motion, rushing off to arithmancy class. The last thing she wanted was to give anymore thought to Draco Malfoy than she already had, yet there she went, playing the entire interaction over and over in her head as she hurried through the castle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Draco thought he should consider it a bad thing that when he strolled into the school's hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey didn't even bother to ask what the problem was or even check him over for anything. No, no. Instead, the crotchety old witch simply rolled her eyes and waved him toward the nearest empty bed.

She barely even glanced up from some paperwork she was handling as she said, "First day, Malfoy, really?" Sighing, she continued with a shake of her head. "Just rest for a bit and be on your way."

He had half a mind to tell her off—assuming there was nothing actually wrong with him, as though he were . . . were . . . nothing more than a ruddy hypochondriac! It wasn't as though he'd come here when nothing was 'really' wrong with him that often. Then again, he reminded himself as he did what he was told and sprawled on the bed, if she did examine him, she'd find there actually wasn't anything truly the matter with him and send him right back to class.

Holding in a groan at his ridiculous predicament, he threw his arm over his eyes. Maybe it was for the best. He wasn't entirely certain how well the concealing charm he'd cast over his Dark Mark would hold under any sort of medical scrutiny.

It bothered him, though, in a way he'd not considered before. Last year he'd have been more than happy with the Medi-witch allowing him to rest there without fuss or even explanation. Now? Well, now it made him wonder. Was he really thought to be so lacking in fortitude? Some . . . some waif, or shrinking violet, or whatever wilting name one could ascribe to a person who's body couldn't tolerate much stress?

But that wasn't so, was it? Sure, he bellyached more than his share when he was injured, but he'd also gotten into a fist fight with Potter and come out no worse for wear. He was a bloody Seeker—or had been—and had gotten slammed into the ground, and the sides of bleachers, and myriad other unpleasant surfaces while playing Quidditch. But sure, bellow and wallow a bit about getting scratched up by a hippogriff and suddenly you've a reputation for being weak and whiny.

Draco sat up, wincing as he held his head. What the hell was he even going on about? And why did he care?

Maybe that was one of the reasons Granger looked at him with such disdain. Oh, sure, there was their rivalry over grades, his calling her Mudblood—which he hadn't done since fourth year, thanks very much—and his constant and on-going disputes with Potter and Weasle-bee, but sometimes he thought maybe, being a brave Gryffindor, she found his lack of in-your-face courage a bit . . . .

"Are you joking right now?" he asked himself in a low, hissing whisper of sound. What the bloody hell did he care about Granger? Since  _when_? Why should any of this have to do with her?

Oh, well, he was in the infirmary to get away from her for a class, wasn't he? It had been her suggestion, hadn't it? She'd said he hadn't looked well, she'd worried about him for acting decently toward her. He bit the inside of his lip, holding in a sound of agitation. She'd worried about him . . . .  _She_ , Hermione Granger, had worried about  _him_ , Draco Malfoy.

That was  _madness_! Although . . . .

Swallowing hard, he looked about the mostly-empty school hospital. If he would stop griping about everything under the sun, he knew he'd realize that seeing her concerned for him had bothered him. Deep down, the thought of it upset him.

He scratched absently at his left wrist. The action snapped his gaze toward that arm—toward that  _fore_ arm, specifically. None of it mattered, did it? He was a Death Eater now. The girl all these thoughts revolved around was a Muggleborn . . . a  _Mudblood._  He ignored that he had to force himself to think the word just now.

Shaking his head, he got off the bed and started out of the room. He had never liked her, he loathed her, and he was sure if he was around her again, soon enough all the things she did that bothered him would call back to mind the very fact that him having any feelings toward her that were not negative simply was impossible!

"Leaving so soon, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco spun on his heel to face the Medi-witch, one finger raised in the air as he scowled. The note of humor in her voice was blatantly obvious.

She lifted her gaze from her start-of-year paperwork and arched a brow at him, daring the Slytherin wizard to say something he knew he shouldn't.

Schooling his features, he bit back a snarky retort and lowered his hand. "Just not feeling as ill as I'd thought, thanks very much."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" She jotted down a quick note and then held it out to him.

A late slip, of course. Barely keeping that scowl from reappearing, he went back to her desk and all but snatched the bit of parchment from her fingers.

Hiding a smirk at the clearly irritated young man's expense, Madame Pomfrey went back to her work as he turned and stormed out.

* * *

Hermione jumped as the classroom door was thrown open. Looking up from the notes she was dutifully copying down, she saw Draco move into the room on plodding, angry steps. What the hell had gone on since she'd seen him barely half an hour ago?

Madame Vector didn't even pause in her lesson, merely holding out her hand expectantly. Draco passed her the late slip, his attention skirting in Granger's direction. As though no one else was in the room for the space of a single heartbeat. What was that look on her face? Was it fear? More of her godforsaken concern?

Fixing his gaze on an empty desk, he started along the aisle toward it, content to ignore everyone and everything outside of the lesson. He was going to pay mind only to Madame Vector's droning voice, and those irksome habits of Grangers that would effortlessly remind him of how much he disliked her.

As he took his seat, there was a flurry of motion a few desks ahead. He dreaded looking up, and so he refused to do so. Until that movement came to a halt at the side of his desk. Bracing himself as one might for some scene of horror, he lifted his head to meet the chestnut eyes of Hermione Granger.

To her credit, she did look a bit apprehensive under his scrutiny. His voice came out thick and rough as he forced out a single word. "What?"

Hermione pursed her lips, giving his paler-than-usual features a once-over. Well, if Madame Pomfrey had let him come back to class, then he probably wasn't all that badly off. Maybe his stomach was simply bothering him or something, either way, he could stow the death-glares for a few moments, couldn't he?

Maybe it was better this way, she told herself as she collected her thoughts enough to answer—maybe if he only ever gave her mean looks like this, she'd stop any useless wondering about him. "I just wanted to give you these. I . . . ." God, there went her voice faltering. What was  _happening_? "I wasn't certain if you'd be in class, so I asked Madame Vector to let me take down a copy of the lesson so far for you."

The venom drained from his face almost instantly, his grey eyes widening as his jaw went slack. "You did . . . why?" Here he'd been hoping she would be the annoying pain in the arse with whom he'd become so very familiar, and she'd gone and done something nice for him? How  _dare_ she!

She shrugged, setting the scroll of class notes before him on his desk. "I don't . . . look, I just thought you wouldn't want to fall behind on the first day, is all." Goddammit, why was his attitude upsetting her? It wasn't as though she'd expected him to say 'thank you' or anything. "Never mind, I'll try not to care in the future."

As she stepped away, Draco felt himself overcome with a monumental moment of stupidity. "Granger, wait." He reached out and caught hold of her wrist.

The witch froze as if struck by a  _Petrificus Totalus_. In little, halting increments, she turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him, her dark eyes enormous. Draco Malfoy was actually  _touching_  her? Had that ever happened before? Well, she didn't suppose giving him that well-deserved smack at the end of third year counted very much in this context.

Her gaze touched on his fingers around her wrist—she was _not_  noticing his skin was warmer than she'd imagine it might be, that the press of his fingers was a bit rougher than she'd have expected of him, after all, weren't spoiled boys like him pampered enough to not have rough hands?—before lifting to meet his. He appeared just as shocked by his own action as she did.

Well, now he felt stupid. Stupider than a moment ago when he'd reached out to grab her arm, because _now_  he was just holding onto her in the middle of class with the two of them staring at one another like a couple of idiots.

"Thank you," he forced himself to say.

"Still—still not feeling well, I see."

He recognized that she was trying to joke to ease the awkward tension and he graced her with a pained half-smile.

"Are you two quite finished?"

Hermione and Draco both snapped their gazes toward the front of the room. Madame Vector was arching eyebrow at them, so high the stern look was nearly comical. Draco slipped his hand from Hermione's wrist before the rest of the students could turn and see that lingering touch.

She ignored that rather than simply letting go, his hand had slid along hers. He ignored that when his fingers had drifted down over hers, she'd curled her fingertips for just a second, as though trying to hold on just a bit longer.

There was the distinct impression that she'd had to give herself a shake before she could fully turn away and return to her own seat.

Draco was suddenly very glad none of his friends—or hers, for that matter—were in this class with them. He couldn't have explained what had just happened if he tried. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath as he retrieved his ink and quill from his bag, he exhaled slow.

When he looked up toward the front of the classroom, ready to continue jotting down notes on the same scroll Granger had just left him with—no point wasting it, after all—he noticed she wasn't moving. Madame Vector was back at it, prattling off the correct method for solving the equation on the board, and everyone's quills were scratching away. Everyone except Granger.

From where he sat, he could tell she was staring down at her own scroll open before her. But her quill was perfectly steady. She didn't even look like she was blinking. After a moment, she shifted in her seat and lifted her head. He could see the way she pursed her lips as she forced out a breath.

Her face pinched and she turned her head. Just as fast, Draco dropped his attention down to his half-written notes. But he knew he hadn't moved quick enough, Granger had caught him staring at her.

* * *

"Hey."

Hermione jumped at Harry's voice cutting into her thoughts that evening as she sat in the Gryffindor common room. She dropped her hands into her lap and looked up at him. It wasn't really honest to say he'd cut into her thoughts, she realized, because she wasn't even certain she had been thinking. No, not really. More that her mind kept turning over that bizarre moment with Draco. She wasn't sure if she was ill or if he was, but there was clearly something very wrong with one of them. Maybe even with both of them.

"You okay?"

She forced a smile as Harry dumped himself onto the sofa beside her. "Yeah, just tired. And . . . . I think you may have been right."

"Well, there's something I don't think anyone often hears from you," he said with a smirk, laughing when the quip earned him a swat on the shoulder. "What about?"

"About Draco." She paused, shaking her head. Honestly. Of the three of them, Harry and Ron always called him Malfoy, and while she did sometimes, too, she also called him Draco, didn't she? She'd never noticed before. Why didn't she think of him in a more distanced way, like they did? "I believe," she pushed herself to go on, realizing she'd stalled, "I believe something's going on with him."

"Why? Did he do something?"

Hermione almost felt trapped by Harry's suddenly too-interested tone. She knew he wholeheartedly believed Draco Malfoy was up to something nefarious, and maybe he was, but it almost seemed like Harry wanted Draco to be guilty of something terrible, all the time, simply to justify his own dislike of the Slytherin wizard. And, honestly, didn't Draco Malfoy have enough unlikable qualities without assigning any sort of plots to him?

"No, he just . . . ." She caught herself as her fingertips stroked along the inside of her wrist, brushing over where Draco had held her earlier. "He seems  _off_."

"Finally, someone is listening to me!"

She frowned, shaking her head. "I wasn't _not_  listening to you before, Harry, it's just . . . you accusing Malfoy of some dastardly ploy is a little like Neville forgetting something. Happens a lot, is all I'm saying. You know, you two wouldn't be who you are to one another without him bothering you for the sake of bothering you, and you letting his nonsense get to you."

"All right, you might have a point, there. But still, it feels rotten to be so sure of something and have everyone doubting you."

His tone broke her heart a little. This wasn't the first time Harry'd been sure of something and near everyone had thought he'd gone 'round the bend, or worse, was lying for attention.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel that way."

"You could make it up to me," he said, a knowing grin curving his lips.

"I'm not doing your homework for you, if that's what you're getting at."

Harry chuckled at her stern tone. "No, no. I mean. Help me." He glanced about before going on. "Help me keep an eye on Malfoy."

A little thrill zipped through her that ended, coiling in a giddy ripple, in the pit of her stomach. "Like . . . watch him? Watch Draco? You want me to _watch_  Draco Malfoy for you?"

"Bloody hell, Hermione, I'm not asking you to spy on him. Just, you've more classes with him than anyone. All I want you to do is keep an eye out for anything suspicious."

She nodded, swallowing hard. Her fingers once more brushing her wrist, she couldn't help recalling the bewildered look in that slate-grey gaze as it had held hers.

"Sure. Keep an eye on him," she said in a whisper, sounding nearly as though she was speaking to herself, "I can do that."


End file.
